


The End of Youth

by Acidqueen (syredronning)



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Pedophilia, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-02
Updated: 2011-06-02
Packaged: 2017-10-20 01:00:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/207131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syredronning/pseuds/Acidqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock's teacher goes unusual ways to ensure his development.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End of Youth

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning: Consensual gay sex between adults and teenagers.** Written for the SarekFunFest2003. Special thanks to Hypatia for the beta! All remaining errors are mine.

When I look at him, the young boy in my most advanced math class, I see myself. Not in the black hair over chiseled brows or the slim, unfinished body of youth, but in the way he moves, disconnected from himself and his surroundings. No touch, no smile, the back rigid and the features tensed and closed. Just as he was taught, and he tries so hard to follow the paths the elders have prepared for him, his father most prominently. But he will fail, I know - he has to fail, because he is different and always will be. He thinks it is his human half, but I know better, have known ever since I began to follow his eyes when he was thinking. They never came to rest on any of the girls, only at the boys where they danced over slim limbs and muscular backs before they dropped again.

I can well imagine his shame about this, the same shame I felt for so long. Vulcans do not talk about sex, but push the subject into the forbidden corner of pon farr, where all it is useful for is procreation. Boy is bound to girl at an age no other humanoid species does this any longer; where other worlds hold high the freedom of choice, we take it away in the name of unemotional logic. And the reason why we do this, the scientists learned with every colony far away in space that did not choose early betrothal at first. There, so many lay with their own gender that they soon started it again just to secure the necessary birth rate. And so we sacrifice our individuality for the persistence of our society under the disguise of tradition.

The class is empty now, he is the last one left. Deeply he bows his head over his padd, and I can see the soft line of his neck from the edge of his hair to the top of the robe's collar. I step behind him and his shoulders briefly tense, a loss of control he surely regrets already. But I am not one of his schoolmates, who, dumb and blind to his beautiful character and mind, only measure him against the narrow ideas of their fathers. He looks up at me, and I give him a trace of a smile to ease his fear. I will invite his touch today, and I will see his disbelief first, and his happiness later when he realizes that my offer is true and my invitation freely given. And he will melt in my arms and I will lead him along new paths and teach him how to live. Today I will make my student Spock my lover.

*

He lies beside me and sleeps, his neck on my arm and his face on my shoulder. His soft exhalations glide along my skin and cool my chest on this hot afternoon. How much he changed in those months since he came here with me first; I can remember the awkward boy that touched me so cautiously, unsure of everything. He gave way to the young man I hold tonight, the one who learned how to please someone and, on this road, also learned to let himself be pleased.

One of his legs entangles with mine, and his hand lies on my stomach. I love his fingers, they are long and sensible and soft. I remember how they roamed over my body after the first reluctance was gone, how they paved their way over my skin and to my private parts. How long he had craved for such liberty, I can calculate down to the day; with the first mindrule lessons, the only touch accepted is the ordered centering on melding points or the little contact in martial arts. With me, he learned that touching and being touched is a pleasure that does neither destroy his control nor damage our society. There is a middle course between fire and ice, and with me he learned to tame the beasts of desire.

He grew, and soon will outgrow me. It is always like that, with every one of them. Maybe it is my failure to not be able to go along that path with them further than this border. Somehow love seems to recede with the step from boy to man; at least, my desire does. The first black hairs of a beard stand on his chin, and his muscles show prominently now on his broadened shoulders. His body has lost the milky softness of youth and the naive innocence, so strong and yet so easily wounded. I walked along with him as far as I can go, and helped him up some steps, opened some doors for him. I taught him that he is cherished and wanted, body and soul. Soon he will leave me, no longer a student, neither in mathematics nor in bed. He just does not know that yet.

He looks up at me with a small smile, and his pale lips open slightly, inviting me to kiss. He does not know that I will let him loose soon, for another life, another love; he only knows that tonight I kiss him differently. I press my lips on his as if I can press the memories of him into my mind with them. Just as the sunset often is much more intense in colors than the day itself, the twilight of love brings a final burning and so my mouth lingers longer on his lips, though I do not claim him deeply anymore. But now he claims me and shows again that the boy has gone. And with him goes my love.

*

I saw him today on the street while I talked with a boy of a lower class. We have not met for ten days, and I have hoped he would realize that the last time was good-bye without me saying the words, but he has not. I think about dismissing him when I see the sparkling glance he gives the other boy, but then I feel his urgency. He needs my advice - he wants to leave for Terra, but his father objects and effectively forbids him to leave, something he can do by Vulcan law. He is disturbed, angry and helpless, and I embrace him in a hidden corner, trying to comfort him. But he feels wrong in my arms, and I let him out of it quickly, only adding to his distress.

Something else comes to my mind, and I ask him to accompany me tonight. It will be my final gift to him, and I hope it will work as intended. The circle I will introduce him to is closed and secret, and when I tell him the conditions, he frowns. I can see his insecurity and reluctance that brings back the boyish face for a moment, making my decision easier. I do not know why I did not take him there months ago; maybe it was different with him, I realize now, as I reflect on my unwillingness to even share the sight of his body with anyone else. But by now I do not claim him anymore, and tomorrow he will know it too. It will hurt him a bit, but it is necessary; the final forging of the protective layer he will need if he leaves our world and goes where others will judge him inconsiderately by their own standards.

I collect him in the city and we drive to the actual meeting point. He sits at my side and our shoulders almost touch. But some invisible border is there between us, and he no longer lays his hand on my thigh as he usually did. There have not been many trips, as we always had to hide, but I remember one where we went to the Soth'a mountain and climbed to its top, reaching it just in the burning heat of the midday sun. Our robes clung to our bodies, and we sank into a shady corner onto the stony ground. I pulled away his protecting hood, and he pulled me close, the first time ever he simply followed his desire, no longer asking for permission on every move. A part of me was contented by this development - another knew in hidden sadness that the same development would lead him away from me.

I look at him and he looks back with a firmness I know he does not feel - but he fakes it well. My pupil has learned its lessons, and we arrive where he will get his last from me.

*

I feel his gaze on my back, and his disapproval. He does not like the way I greet too many people here, hug the men and stroke the slim faces of the boys I know. He follows in my wake, holding distance by the layer of coldness his features are radiating. Everyone's mask is in place, although those who often come here know each other; there is no way to keep anonymity for all time in a small community. And so the metal half-masks on our faces are only protecting us from the outsiders that come to our hidden world sometimes, the satellites that fear their true desires. Buying a night is so much easier than allowing real feelings, and here they find boys that do not mind getting some money for something they want anyway.

I kiss another boy, and behind me I feel him tense again. Pulling him into a corner I give him a bit of what he wants, only to realize that I cannot give him enough anymore. I pursue with empty gestures, but my lips no longer yield to his touch. He reads my feelings too well to not understand, I am sure, but he still tries, tries harder, wanting more. His groin pushes against my pelvis, and he wants too much and I step back. Our gazes lock, and want turns to desperation in his dark eyes. I tell him I am leaving him to fetch some drinks, and he nods wordlessly. And I decide I will not go back to him.

The bar is full, and I hide in a corner. But I watch him and the way his body moves with every changing thought. After a while his curiosity wins out, and he walks around, examining the surroundings. Other men look after him and revel in the sight of his young body, and finally he disappears behind the black door. He does not come out again, and I look down at my glass and find it empty. Something inside of me wants me to follow him into that room where the darkness is so deep that nobody knows who is touching whom. There I would be able to touch him a last time; with my shields firmly in place he would not know that it was I. The dark room also darkens the perceptions and shifts reality in one's mind. I would be able to make love to him a last time, my desire whispers in his mind, and I am still considering my decision when I see someone else enter the room.

I have never seen his father here, and I do not know why I recognize him instantly. But it does not matter, as anger rises in me. How can this man so easily touch the boy at his side for money, but keep away from his own son emotionally? Is this what our logic does to us, condemn our nearest ones to cold deserts of Surakian philosophy? When did rules turn into religion? No matter how often I read our history files, I do not understand why we ended here, in this corsetry of beliefs. And sometimes I would prefer a bloody death rather than to see the rigid stances of the boys and girls in my classes that turn more rigid with each year of their lives.

I see his father walk toward the black door, and I watch his leaving and his hand that lingers casually on the boy's shoulder, and I turn away. I believe in fate. And I know when it is time to let it rule.

*

Spock sits at my side on the way back, and he is silent half the journey, his hands clutched around his knees. I saw him leave the cabin where his father changed into clothes and wonder what they spoke about. A small part of me fears the outing; I would surely lose my job and likely be sentenced to rehabilitation, which means forcibly changing my mind toward the thinking that the construct named society prefers in their citizens. I would be considered a disturbance, a perversion, and no one would be able to prove differently. How little did their own sons matter in the end; only their morals did.

Of course he would not betray me, another voice says in my mind. Besides, Sarek is in the same position as I am. Even worse, considering how well known he is.

Spock looks at me, and I give the flighter control to the autopilot and meet his gaze.

"Was that your plan that I would meet him?" he asks.

"No," I reply. "I have never seen him there before."

His gaze shifts away to his knees again, and I see him swallow hard before speaking further. His voice seems deeper than this afternoon, but this must be my imagination only. "It's not the right place for me, he said. Not for his son. I reminded him that the boy he had bought was another man's son. He told me that I would not need to sell myself because of money shortage. And I told him that maybe I lacked something else." He looks up again. "Not an answer my father wanted to hear."

I put my palm on his hands, which are still tightly clutched around his knees. He closes his eyes at the touch, and his shields drop, broadcasting his memories in his distress. And though I usually never join the minds of my young lovers, I open mine tonight and allow the images to flood me. I become him as he goes into the dark room, instinctively knowing what he would find there. It is not love, simply bodily desire, and it does not take him long to get what he needs to make the pain in his chest go silent for a while. Old bodies, young bodies shift around him in darkness, giving and taking pleasure in many ways. There is no caring, no emotion besides unguarded desire and open need, and in the end he wonders about himself and stands up, ready to leave. But he tumbles into a man, and as he is held in strong arms he thinks it is me, and he welcomes me with a kiss that ends on lips he does not know. But his irritation is short-lived when he is kissed back. He does not leave; instead, he yields in the arms of the newcomer. His mouth finds soft skin on a broad shoulder, and his hands roam over a hairy chest in exploration. The feeling of knowing returns and he wallows in it, allowing it to guide his movements. All the tricks I taught him to make a Vulcan lose control he applies to him, a gift for the unknown man...and all the while he still thinks of me.

It is as if I feel his hands on my body now although I am in his mind. I am he as his hands wander over my body and down between my legs, and he is I as my mouth closes over his cock. I suck and get sucked and I feel not only double ridges but also a metal piercing on my tongue that I know does not belong to either of us. I play with it and wonder how I must shift it for optimal pleasure, and I close my eyes to the darkness as I taste the first droplets.

His mind takes over again when I separate myself from the images for a moment. He sucks and massages the heavy sac with one hand, fondling the soft skin of the inner thighs with the other. His service pleases and the man gets hard and I feel how I get hard too on the image, the tastes and the smells of the scene that are all transported with the memories. I barely manage to stop the autopilot and safely land the flighter behind a small hill before I open my pants in haste. He leans forward and to the images in his mind reality joins, blending them into a scenery of blinding sensations. He sucks me as he sucked the man, and I can feel the piercing as his tongue wanders over my glans and plays with the ring and I feel my orgasm approaching quickly.

But he withdraws as he withdrew with him, and I know what he wants. He crawls onto the back seat and kneels down with his face to the window, pushing his pants down over his beautiful buttocks. I join him there, and my penis is erect and wet. In our joined mind the images of him and the man dance when I enter him, and I am he and he is I and we are him as we fuck. We never fucked so hard, so mindlessly banging against each other. His head meets the window with a dumb sound, but he just centers his hands and pushes back. I take him so hard that it hurts us both, just as the man did there in that dark room, and I impale him deeply and he begins to sob, a small sound I have never heard from him in all our time together. I hesitate but he pushes against me again, wanting me to finish, and so I fuck him until he comes in violent spasms.

He breaks down on the seat, gasping for air. But I am still hard and I turn him around on his back, spreading his legs. The sobbing begins again as I enter once more, and so I rock him more gently this time, keeping myself under the little control I have left. The flood of images slowly dies down, and now it is truly me who takes him. I push the half-opened robe aside and touch his chest, caressing him in a way the man in his memories has not done. The more I touch him, the more he cries, and my fingers meet the wetness that speaks of his Terran half and I want to cry with him but I cannot. Instead, I caress and stroke his body, his arms and legs and chest for a long time before I close one hand around his flaccid cock, manipulating it back to arousal.

His sobs die on its rise, and he breathes hard now with every stroke of mine as I pull back and press deep into him over and over again. My thumb rubs his glans, and I can tell he will not take long. The flesh of my abdomen pounds his thighs in a last hard movement, and we come in unison almost soundlessly, only our bodies tensing for a long moment before they relax. I withdraw and sink down into the seat beside him; he puts down his slim legs and rubs his face with his hands.

We stay like this for many minutes; how many exactly, my brain forgets to count. Then I pull him up into my arms and kiss him. How wonderful he is, I think, and wonder if this will be the one to break my heart, the one I cannot let go. He kisses back without hesitation, but something in his touch has changed. I let him loose, and he sits down beside me in a small distance, his head on my shoulder the only physical contact between us.

"What will you do now?" I ask him. I have seen in his mind that later he recognized the piercing and followed the man out of curiosity - that it was his own father he only realized when they stood face to face. And he was sure Sarek did not know it was him in that dark room.

He looks at me, and I see that the last traces of boyhood have disappeared from his face in this night. "I promised him that I would keep my silence about his activities."

"In exchange for your entry into Starfleet Academy?"

He nods. "Indeed." He pulls the robe loosely together and climbs back to the front. "It is late, I need to be home soon."

I close my pants and return to the driver's seat. We do not speak until we stop in front of his parents' house. There he turns his head to me, and when our eyes meet, I know I will lose him. And for the first time it is I who am left behind, and it hurts.

"Live long and prosper," he says and makes the traditional gesture of a student toward his teacher.

"Live long and prosper, Spock," I say and make the ta'al, the greeting of equals. He has grown tonight, and though he may not be adult in the eyes of the law, he is for me. He tilts his head in wordless approval, and then he leaves for the gate where he quickly disappears from my view, his firm steps on the cobbled way traveling off in the silence of the night.


End file.
